The Blood Crown - Chapter 299

The Dragon-Wolf Struggle

 

Mountains and Rivers Following the Wind (Sealed)

 

Riding the Wall of Three Dukes,

Traitor Yan Sikong.

 

Yan Sikong murmured softly, repeating this part of the doggerel poem. It was just a short segment of a longer piece, but these few words were enough to pierce his heart.

 

“Riding the Wall of Three Dukes, Traitor Yan Sikong.”

 

Throughout his life, he had loathed the eunuch faction, dedicating most of his years to their downfall. Yet, ironically, there came a day when he himself became known as a “traitor.”

 

Did the common people now see him, Yan Sikong, as no different from the despised eunuchs, deemed utterly vile and worthy only of extermination?

 

Hearing the term “traitor” from the mouths of young, innocent children who were merely parroting what they’d learned revealed how far his infamy had spread. His name, Yan Sikong, was destined to be etched in the annals of history with eternal shame.

 

He had thought he had grown numb, but this was his homeland. It was the Guangning he and his foster father had once defended with their lives, the place he had longed for in countless dreams—the only pure haven in his heart.

 

Sadly, the people of Guangning had forgotten the great hero who had died wrongfully twenty years ago, remembering only the “traitor” of the present.

 

Yan Sikong opened the window. Winter had arrived, and a bitter wind howled, chilling him to the bone. Leaning against the window frame, he watched the bustling streets below, where carriages and pedestrians filled the scene. In his mind, the street transformed into its past form, a vivid memory of his brief but joyful youth. Perhaps those fleeting moments of happiness had exhausted all the luck in his life.

 

A bitter smile tugged at his lips as tears welled up and fell uncontrollably.

 

“Father, your son is unworthy. I have become… a ‘traitor.'”

 

—

 

The carriage came to a halt, and Yan Sikong took a deep breath before stepping down.

 

Shen Hexuan had brought him to meet Liang Huiyong, having already informed Liang of the meeting in advance.

 

After twenty years, Yan Sikong could still vividly recall Liang Huiyong’s appearance. Back then, Liang had been a young officer under Yuan Mao’s command—courageous, resourceful, and loyal. He was a pillar of strength and the very man who had saved Yan Sikong at the execution ground, sparing him from being exiled by Han Zhaoxing.

 

When he saw Liang Huiyong again, Yan Sikong recognized him instantly. Now the Deputy General of Liaodong, Liang was just over forty, still brimming with vitality.

 

Liang Huiyong stared at Yan Sikong, his eyes wide with disbelief that quickly turned into certainty. He opened his mouth to speak but struggled to find words.

 

Yan Sikong stepped forward and knelt on one knee. “Thank you, General Liang, for saving my life back then.”

 

Liang Huiyong, overcome with emotion, quickly helped Yan Sikong to his feet, his voice trembling. “Sikong… is it really you?”

 

Yan Sikong nodded heavily. “General Liang, it is I.”

 

Liang Huiyong let out a heavy sigh. “Twenty years… Twenty years have passed, and I never thought I’d see you again.”

 

“Neither did I… If not for your intervention back then, I wouldn’t be here today.”

 

“You were General Yuan’s son; how could I stand idly by?” Liang Huiyong said, reminiscing about the past.

 

Yan Sikong replied, “These years under Han Zhaoxing must have been difficult for you, General Liang.”

 

“Ah, let’s not speak of it.” Liang sighed bitterly. “If not for the people of Liaodong, I would have gladly retired to the countryside rather than endure the humiliation of serving under that wretched man.”

 

“General Liang’s endurance for the greater good is something the people of Liaodong will always remember.”

 

Liang shook his head. “After the eunuch faction fell, General Zhao stationed troops in Liaodong. I was fortunate to gain his favor and rise through the ranks. I once believed that, after decades of suffering, Liaodong might finally see hope. But then…” His voice cracked, and his eyes reddened. “I couldn’t even see General Zhao one last time.”

 

Gripping Liang’s hand firmly, Yan Sikong said, “General Zhao entrusted Liaodong to you, General Liang. You must safeguard it.”

 

“I am willing to give my life for my homeland, but Guangning’s mere 40,000 troops are no match for the Jin army’s 200,000.”

 

“Do you remember my father, General Liang?”

 

Liang grew animated. “How could I forget General Yuan’s achievements?”

 

Many had forgotten, Yan Sikong thought. Even though he had exonerated Yuan Mao in the capital, it likely mattered little to the people of Guangning. But he could not blame them for their poor memory. The people had suffered too long; mere survival was hard enough—what more could one ask of them? He continued, “Twenty years ago, under my father’s leadership, we defended Guangning with fewer than 10,000 soldiers and repelled three waves of Tuoletai’s 100,000 troops. Today, we can still defend Guangning and safeguard Liaodong.”

 

Liang fixed his gaze on Yan Sikong. “Sikong, did you come here for Guangning?”

 

“I did.”

 

Liang squeezed Yan Sikong’s hand tightly, his voice lowering. “Do you know? Even if the whole world slanders and curses you, I know you are not that kind of person. From a young age, you were a good child. You fought to avenge General Yuan, to eradicate treachery. You single-handedly toppled the eunuch faction that plagued the empire for decades and restored General Yuan’s name. If you had even the slightest selfish intent, you could have lived in luxury long ago. How could it have come to this?”

 

Yan Sikong’s throat tightened, and his eyes grew hot. In a choked voice, he said, “General Liang, your words bring great solace to my heart.”

 

Standing nearby, Fu Zhanqing couldn’t help but interject, “The common people don’t think so.”

 

Shen Hexuan coughed lightly, prompting Fu to lower his head.

 

Liang, now reminded of Shen Hexuan, quickly stepped forward and cupped his hands. “Lord Shen, please forgive my discourtesy.”

 

“General Liang is too polite.” Shen replied, returning the gesture. “I apologize for being unable to rise and return the courtesy due to my leg.”

 

“Not at all, not at all.” Liang said hastily. “Someone, bring tea!”

 

Several people sat around in the room, discussing the current situation.

 

After crossing the Huang River, Zhuo Letai did not rush to attack. Instead, he set up camp and fortified his position. It was reported that he had spent a fortune to purchase firearms and cannons from the Russians, specifically to counter the Han people’s city wall artillery.

 

Once the grand prince of the Jurchens, Zhuo Letai was now a king. The greatest humiliation of his life had been twenty years ago when his army of 100,000 was defeated by a mere few thousand remnants under the walls of Guangning City. Over the years, he had bided his time, sharpening his blades and preparing his troops. His ambition to seize Liaodong and the fertile Central Plains had never wavered. He had waited this long and now saw the internal chaos in the Central Plains as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. With his forces stronger than ever, he was determined not to miss this chance.

 

Since losing the seven prefectures of northern Liaoning, for over two decades, the Jurchens had frequently sent bands of cavalry to roam and pillage the villages and counties of Liaodong. Wherever they went, they burned, killed, plundered, and raped without restraint. Any attempts to send troops in pursuit ended with the Jurchens vanishing without a trace. This cycle repeated endlessly, leaving the military and civilians of Liaodong in constant terror.

 

At last, a truly capable and wise general had been appointed to guard Liaodong, giving the people a glimpse of hope—only to plunge them back into darkness once again.

 

In contrast, the Jurchens had grown stronger and more ambitious over the years, with their morale surpassing that of twenty years ago.

 

Under such circumstances, morale had already collapsed even before a battle began.

 

This was no longer twenty years ago. Miracles are called miracles because they are one in a million.

 

They might be able to hold Zhuo Letai off for a while, but his determined and prepared approach clearly signaled his readiness for a prolonged war. In a protracted conflict, their manpower, supplies, and morale would undoubtedly falter.

 

The only one who could save Liaodong now was Feng Ye.

 

Only Feng Ye’s army could rescue Liaodong from this peril.

 

Liang Huiyong said, “I’ve already sent multiple urgent letters to the court asking for reinforcements. I’ve heard that the Wolf King is trying to mobilize troops, but he…” He glanced at Yan Sikong, “He is hesitant to deploy the Feng family army, as Chu Wang and other lords are all waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

 

“Of course, he’s unwilling,” Shen Hexuan said. “He’s trapped in the same predicament as the court was back then—unable to manage multiple fronts.”

 

Fu Zhanqing nodded. “Exactly. If it weren’t for this, how would he have taken the throne so easily?” After speaking, he realized his words were inappropriate and cast a cautious glance at Yan Sikong.

 

After all, the whole world knew what role Yan Sikong had played in Feng Ye’s rise to power.

 

But Yan Sikong’s face remained calm and unperturbed.

 

Liang Huiyong said, “What’s most urgent now is figuring out how to make the Wolf King send troops. Sikong, you…”

 

Yan Sikong said lightly, “General Liang, I was captured by Master Shen to be presented to Chu Wang. However, Master Shen, understanding the greater good, believed that Liaodong’s survival was vital to the nation’s fate and chose to prioritize its salvation. I had already retired to the countryside, but I’ve come forward again for Liaodong’s sake. I am willing to give my life for my homeland.”

 

Liang Huiyong was greatly moved. “Sikong, you are truly worthy of being General Yuan’s adopted son. You carry his legacy and will surely accomplish what he couldn’t—utterly defeating the Jurchens!”

 

Shen Hexuan looked at Yan Sikong, his expression unreadable. “What exactly is your plan?”

 

“We must simultaneously defend against Zhuo Letai’s attack by strengthening the city’s defenses, transporting supplies, and boosting morale, while also forcing Feng Ye to send troops.”

 

“How do we force Feng Ye to send troops?”

 

Yan Sikong frowned slightly.

 

From the moment he stepped out of retirement, he knew he would inevitably have to deal with Feng Ye again. It was the one thing he least wanted to do in his life. But he had no choice. To save Liaodong, their strength was far too meager. The court’s strongest forces, as well as those in the Central Plains, were all under Feng Ye’s command. If Feng Ye didn’t rescue Liaodong, no one else could.

 

He still remembered his last encounter with Feng Ye. The man had looked at him with eyes full of resentment and had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he hated him. Resentment, hatred—it didn’t matter anymore. He had already died once and no longer cared. But would Feng Ye risk exposing himself to Chen Mu’s opportunistic attack to save him? Deep down, he had no confidence.

 

Still, even if there was only the slightest chance, he had to try. He could sacrifice himself for Liaodong. Facing someone he never wanted to see again in this lifetime was nothing in comparison.

 

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’ll write Feng Ye a letter.”

 

Everyone stared at him intently.

 

The entangled grievances between Feng Ye and Yan Sikong were well-known throughout the land. Although some rumors sounded absurd, there was no smoke without fire. The fact that Feng Ye had scoured the land searching for Yan Sikong was undoubtedly true.

 

“What do you plan to write?”

 

—

 

“Wolf King! Wolf King!”

 

Feng Ye, who was burning the midnight oil reviewing memorials, frowned at the urgent report from a guard. Recently, he had been plagued by endless government affairs and sleepless nights, all because of one person. Hearing the commotion, he felt his headache worsen.

 

The guard burst into the study, fell to his knees with a thud, and spoke urgently before Feng Ye could rebuke him. “Wolf King, there’s news of Grand Tutor Yan!”

 

Feng Ye’s entire body stiffened, the brush in his hand falling onto the paper, staining half the page with ink. His heart tightened violently, and his voice trembled as he said, “W-what did you say?”

 

For more than half a year, he had desperately sought news of Yan Sikong but to no avail. At first, they had tracked down leads in nearby towns, but each one had turned out to be a dead end. He knew his subordinates wouldn’t dare to speak lightly unless the information was reliable.

 

The guard, equally excited, said, “A few days ago, our spies discovered traces of Shen Hexuan in Taiyuan. They followed him, and Shen Hexuan eventually left Taiyuan. The spies then trailed him all the way to Bazhou, where he visited a horse ranch afflicted by an outbreak. Many martial artists were summoned to treat the horses, and a few days later, Shen Hexuan took someone with him. That person’s build reportedly resembles Grand Tutor Yan’s.”

 

Feng Ye slammed the table, his eyes reddening. He growled, “Why wasn’t I informed earlier?”

 

“General Que forbade it, fearing it would only give you false hope if the information was incorrect. Now that we’ve received confirmation that they are heading towards Liaodong, the general finally ordered me to report to you.”

 

Feng Ye abruptly stood up, his face pale as paper. Clenching his fists, his heart pounded so violently it felt as if it would leap out of his throat.

 

Is it you, Sikong? Is it really you?

 

A horse epidemic and Liaodong—both were closely tied to Yan Sikong. And it was Shen Hexuan himself who had taken the person away. Perhaps, just perhaps, it really was him. It had to be him!

 

No matter what, even a glimmer of hope was enough. For even the faintest ray of light, he would cross mountains and rivers without hesitation. Otherwise, he would be utterly consumed by darkness, living forever in the torment of loss and regret, unable to live, die, or find redemption.

 

Please, Sikong. Let me find you. Let me see you again. Let me have the chance to make amends for everything in the past.

 

Even if it means death, let me follow you into the afterlife.